Epilogue
MARISSA
Covering the first Nighthawks home game of the season with my belly rounding out my shirt and fresh red streaks in my hair wasn’t how I expected my move to football coverage to look.
But here I was—balancing a laptop on my baby bump like it was part of the press box furniture, trying to type with what felt like a tiny tight end doing drills inside me.
The stadium vibrated beneath us as the game clock dipped under a minute. The crowd was still losing its collective mind over Raiden’s third touchdown of the night. Three. As in one for each time I’d kissed him before he left this morning.
“Shaffer is locked in,” the reporter beside me said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Marriage looks good on the guy.”
I pretended to focus on my stat sheet. “I’ll make sure to tell him you said so.”
He chuckled. “You two are disgustingly cute. Don’t deny it.”
I didn’t bother trying.
The press box buzzed as the final drive wrapped up. Below, the field looked like a living, breathing ocean of red as fans surged to their feet.
On my other side, a younger reporter twisted in her chair toward me.
“Did you see Micah Hayes tonight? Twenty-one tackles.” She widened her eyes dramatically. “If the rumors I’ve heard about him and that girl at The Tight Line are true? That man is trying to show off.”
I kept my smile polite. “You all know better than to ask me for insider gossip about Raiden’s teammates. My lips are sealed.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed. “It was still worth a shot.”
The final whistle blew. The roar of the stadium swelled beneath us. I finished jotting my closing note, saved the file, and stretched my aching back. Then I got up to head down to congratulate my man on one of the best games of his career.
And since I had a press pass, I had a slight advantage over the other wives because I didn’t have to wait in the family room with everyone else.
Fans in the concourse were chanting his name, the sound echoing through the concrete tunnels as I stepped out. My badge swung against my rounding belly, drawing a few smiles from stadium staff as I passed.
“Evenin’, Marissa,” one of the security guards said, opening the barrier for me without needing to check anything. “Hell of a game.”
“A great season opener,” I agreed, breathless with pride.
I walked past the family area and waved at a few people who smiled my way. I wasn’t just covering the Nighthawks, I was part of their world.
Turning the corner around the nearest hallway, I shifted to the wall beside the double doors where the media who weren’t authorized for locker room interviews could wait.
With my connection to Raiden, it would’ve been easy for me to get access.
Especially since I’d been assigned by my network to report from the press box for all home games.
But my caveman of a husband wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me anywhere near his teammates while they were half-dressed, even with a huge rock on my finger and my belly swollen with his children.
So our sideline reporter was the one who went in there for interviews instead of me.
A man, thank goodness, or I might have thrown a fit before I could stop myself.
I conveniently blamed the urge on pregnancy hormones.
The locker room doors finally burst open, and Raiden strode out like he’d just walked off the cover of Sports Illustrated. His dark hair was damp, and his grin was huge. As it should be after a three-touchdown game.
He stopped the moment his eyes found me. His entire focus was locked on me.
On us.
His gaze dropped to my belly, then lifted back to my face with a gleam in his eyes that made my knees weak.
“Hey, baby,” he murmured, already reaching for me.
“Hi,” I whispered, my breath catching when his big hands framed my hips in a firm grip.
“You look good.” His voice rumbled against my skin as he dipped down, brushing his nose against my temple. “Did our kids like the game?”
I laughed softly. “They kicked the back of my ribs every time you scored.”
“Smart kids.”
His smile widened, and then he captured my mouth in a long and impossibly tender kiss that melted the noise around us into nothing.
A couple of players whooped as they walked by. Someone muttered, “Get a room, Shaffer,” but Raiden didn’t pull away. His hands just slid to my lower back, holding me close while he kneaded my sore muscles.
When he finally broke the kiss, he rested his forehead against mine. “Knew you were up there watching. Made me play harder.”
“It showed in your stats.” I stroked my palm across his bearded cheek.
He huffed a quiet laugh. “I like having you as my good-luck charm.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re just talented.”
“What I am is insanely in love with my wife,” he corrected.
My heart was overflowing as he kissed me again, not caring when there was a lightbulb flash as someone snapped a photo of us. I was too happy to worry about what anyone else thought about me…and too used to being a part of the news now, not just the one reporting it.